


Both

by a5xa7 (CastelloFlare)



Series: the runner's romance [7]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Childhood, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastelloFlare/pseuds/a5xa7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the weeks and months that passed by, people had already forgotten why these two kids were always fighting. All they could remember was that they were always together.</p><p>Note: Chapter 3 is Minho's POV told in first-person pov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. them

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this story a shot.

There was this boy who, as far as Newt could remember, had always lived in the house next door. It was a small neighborhood, so they inevitably went to the same school, and being the same age, took the same classes as well. For a long time, to Newt, the boy was just like a parked car, a tree, or mailbox – nothing but part of the immediate periphery. He would pass him by on the streets or at school but never actually take notice of him. They never really interacted, until that one day in 3rd Grade when a wild baseball flew into Newt’s backyard, and accidentally hit his Spiderman action figure while he was playing with it. It smashed into a million pieces all over the leaf-infested yard, much to Newt’s dismay. The boy, surprisingly for his height then, immediately climbed up the wooden fence to apologize and retrieve his ball. They spent the whole afternoon bickering and looking for the missing pieces of Spidey, but never completely found them. Instead they found something else that bound them together for the rest of their lives – mutual hatred. They’ve been inseparable ever since.

They couldn’t stop talking about each other – how Newt was so cranky over an action figure, how Minho couldn’t even apologize properly, Newt this and Newt that, Minho this and Minho that. When Minho dressed up as Spiderman for Halloween, Newt wouldn't stop pestering him about it, and followed him wherever he went trick-or-treating. During Christmas Day, Minho gave Newt a walking stick that would help him ‘get through his cranky grandpa phase’. Through the weeks and months that passed by, people had already forgotten why these two kids were always fighting. All they could remember was that they were always together.

Between the two of them, the first one to use the term ‘friend’ was Minho. It was 5th Grade, and he needed an excuse so that his parents would allow him to go to summer camp where his crush, 6th Grader Odessa Chang, was planning to go to. No one else from their class seemed like they were planning to join any summer camp, so he just blurted out the first thing in his mind – _Newt would be there._ His parents were initially shocked, yet not unhappy with this “development”. The following day, Minho spent the whole afternoon persuading Newt to join him on summer camp. It wasn’t only until the dead of night, when Minho just wouldn't stop throwing pebbles on Newt’s window from the tree between their houses, that the blond agreed – but only if Minho becomes his slave for a week at camp. Minho begrudgingly agreed. In the end, Odessa wasn’t allowed by her parents to go, and the two boys were stuck with each other for a whole six weeks.

By the time they were in high school, Minho had gotten a little taller than Newt, and for a while he never let the blond forget how “shorter” he was. Challenged, Newt started on an exercise routine he believed would boost his growth – he jogged around the neighbourhood every morning, used the local playground monkeybars as his ‘gym’ to stretch his limbs and form his abs, and did push-ups anytime he could in his room, where Minho could see him if he climbed the tree where he threw those pebbles from two years ago.

“Could your body take it if I sat on you while you did your push-ups?” Minho smirked as he made his way through Newt’s open window with one foot still on a branch of the linking tree – a tree they decided to name as such because it became the ‘link’ between their parallel windows. Newt had learned not to put his study table by the window since Minho always entered through there when he just felt like it. One time during fourth grade, he had snuck in just after Newt came from the shower with only a bath towel on; Minho successfully robbed him of his towel and he had to run naked around the house just to get it back from the Asian kid.

“Is that a challenge I hear, shuckface?” Newt smirked back, his confidence soaring after three weeks of training. He stuck a finger out to beckon Minho to sit on top of him, which the boy did, but not before trying to push Newt down with his foot. When Minho had finally sat on his back, Newt resumed his push-ups, this time exerting much more effort than a while ago. “Did you gain some weight, you overgrown potato?”

“You making excuses for your apparent lack of improvement, shank?”

“Just kidding,” Newt snickered, and did his push-ups at a faster rate, showing off just how strong his arms had become. This startled Minho and made him accidentally squeeze Newt’s right buttock for balance. “Whoah there, Min--!”

“Hey, they’re kinda firm,” Minho said rather quietly after he composed himself. He squeezed again, this time, with both hands on both cheeks. "Didn't really look that way when you chased me around naked before – hey!”

Newt had turned around, making Minho fall flat on his back.

“What are you exactly here for, peach-fuzz? Tryina interrupt my routine or something?” Newt’s face was red. Minho couldn’t quite figure out if it was the angry shade or pumped-from-training shade of red, but it somehow made the yellow of his hair stand out more.

“Some routine!” Minho said, standing up so as to look down at the blond. “You actually think it’s working for you? I’m still taller, spider-freak.”

Newt abruptly stood up that he startled Minho again. “Not for long, tubbycheeks.” He inched closer in what seemed like a menacing way that Minho instinctively pushed him back. Newt also pushed back in retaliation, pinning Minho to the wall. He pressed their foreheads closer, and said, “See? We seeing eye to eye just means I’m as tall as you now.”

Minho sustained eye contact for a few seconds before pushing Newt back to call him names while he made his way out the window. They continued to yell at each other even when Minho climbed the linking tree until he got himself back in his own window. The next day, and in the days and weeks that followed, two boys were always seen jogging together in the morning, all the while bickering.

 

When they were juniors, Minho had gotten himself a girlfriend. It wasn’t his elementary crush Odessa Chang, but it was another beautiful girl nonetheless, and he didn't really have a hard time dating, being on the football team and all. It didn't bother Newt – finally there was something to distract Minho and keep him from annoying him all day – but the days sure did get a little quieter for Newt. Minho had stopped following him while he jogged in the mornings because he would often go home late from his dates, and football training was enough exercise for him. Minho had stopped whimsically showing up on his window sill just to keep him from reading his comics. The journey back home from school felt different as well – he had friends to walk back home with but they always separated a few blocks before reaching his house. Then he was by himself.

“Hey Batman!” Mr. Simmons, the person who manned the cash register at the convenience store they always stopped at before getting home suddenly called out to him while he was picking out which ice cream flavour he wanted. “Where’s your partner?”

Newt had to laugh. He was totally Batman while Minho was Robin. Robin totally followed Batman’s lead. "The Boy Wonder’s off snogging girls.” He said, while the thought now somehow bothered him that someone actually asked him why he was alone. Even more disturbing was hearing himself say the fact out loud. Was Minho really always there wherever he went?

“Oh,” said Mr. Simmons. “I actually meant he was Superman.”

World’s Finest. The Bats and Supes always worked well together. But him and Minho? Unlikely.

Newt walked over to the counter to pay for his ice cream. More thoughts clouded his mind until Mr. Simmons spoke again from behind the cash register.

“You catching up to him, son?”

“Excuse me, what?”

“You got him his favourite, as usual.” Mr. Simmons smiled as he held out a Pistachio-flavored cup beside Newt’s Double Dutch. Minho had always annoyed Newt that he used the ice cream to shut him up. Buying that just became part of their routine while going home.

“I’ll put that back in the counter,” Newt made to walk back to the freezer, but Mr. Simmons stopped him.

“It’s okay, son. Take it, it’s on me. Give it to the kid when you see him.”

Knowing better than to refuse their old friend, Newt politely thanked him and left, with a rather warm feeling inside him. This means he has an excuse to knock on Minho’s door. He likes this stuff so much he might just make time for them both again.

Newt stopped in his tracks. Since when did he consider him and Minho in one pronoun? Since when did he need to have an excuse to enter his house when they have always climbed in each others’ windows? Since when did he have to ask for Minho’s attention? Since when has he become so accustomed to having that idiot by his side?

He walked briskly, and not because he feared the ice cream would melt. He walked past Minho’s house, past the front yard where they pushed each other around the sprinklers every summer, past the tree where he climbed up one time just to pee on Minho’s stupid head. He entered his house and immediately stalked up to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He wasn’t sure, for the life of him, what he wanted at that moment, but for some reason, he knew what he needed – he needed to see Minho to put everything into place. Back into how they had always been before. That’s right, this was all Minho’s fault. His mind was in chaos because of Minho abruptly disrupting the wave of their daily lives without so much as giving him a warning. It’s Minho’s fault he was feeling like he was left behind.

Then, as if the answer just presented itself to him, Newt looked outside his window and saw the light – literally, because a lamp light was on in Minho’s room. He’s there. He wasn’t out spending the night somewhere with anyone. He was there, a few tree branches away from Newt. Maybe they actually could have ice cream together tonight.

He walked over and climbed out of his window, his body having memorized how to maneuver itself among the branches of the linking tree to get to the other side. Somehow, the night had gone even more silent, as Newt was certain that he could even hear his own heartbeat in his chest. After the time apart, was he actually looking forward to seeing Minho again? No way in hell was he excited. No way. He held back, crawling along the branches, slowly this time. He’d surprise Minho like old times, maybe even finally catch him in nothing but a towel, and he’d grab it and they’d fight like they always did.

As he neared Minho’s window, he could hear something weird – rustling. In the sheets. Labored breathing, sometimes hitched in the throat. That monkeybutt Minho was probably crying silently in the faint light of his lamp because he missed them together, but also because he can’t apologize properly to face Newt. Probably.

A few more steps later, Newt could already see Minho’s outstretched legs on the bed – he was there alright – but he wasn’t alone. There was a girl between his legs, a blond – who was his girlfriend now? – whose face was making good friends with his crotch. Minho’s head was tipped back, wearing a sultry expression Newt had never seen before. His eyes were shut tight, his mouth making weird voiceless noises, a hand fisting a bunch of the girl’s hair as sweat rolled down his neck, his chest, his chiselled torso. This expression, it was meant for something private, maybe something that Newt wasn’t supposed to be a part of. The thought alone stabbed him all over.

Thousands of inconvenient emotions swirled around Newt’s head – hurt, discomfort, anger, shock, confusion, betrayal – but then betrayal would entail expectations. What was he expecting, exactly? From who? Did it still matter now when he felt something shattering inside of him? But then again, maybe it hurt a lot because he expected himself to only have nothing but hate for Minho.

Then, as if his own pain had an aura of its own that could attract attention, Minho’s eyes flew open, and found Newt behind the thick leaves. Minho’s breath got caught in his throat again, his back slightly jumped from the headboard, but his gaze never left Newt’s. There was something in there that he’d never seen before as well – a different kind of hunger. Newt felt his cheeks burn. Staying didnt feel right, but he could not get away now, not with Minho’s eyes chaining him in place.

 

Moments later, he’s back in his house, in the bathroom. He’d had enough when he saw Minho’s body rock in spasms, his hand trembling as it grabbed onto the girl’s head. He knew what that was. It should have been private. He should have left the minute he glimpsed Minho’s legs. Then he would’ve probably finished the two ice cream cups himself by now instead of discarding their melted mass down the toilet with his tears. The tears – they just fell in rivulets before he’d gotten back in his window. Good thing no one else was at home then – not mom nor dad nor his sisters – he really didn’t want to deal with anything right now. He didn’t even want to be in the room facing Minho’s. He had to get away from this place.

He took his bike out and just rode. Rode for hours until he got tired eventually. When he had gotten back, the neighborhood was quiet. The lights in Minho’s room were off. That night, Newt drew the curtains together, and shut his window.

 

The days dragged on too slowly. Newt wished he could graduate from high school soon to get out of here for college. College was a good excuse to get out of town without anyone questioning him why he disappeared. Without Minho having to follow him. Funny how a week ago he had no such thoughts at all. Funny how when he realized he was in love was when he got his heart broken. Time agonizingly slowed down for him, but life went on as usual; he met with friends, stayed in the same room as Minho for class, played some basketball with the guys before heading home. He didnt check to see if there was a chance Minho was walking with them home today. He didn't make any indication of seeing Minho in the corridors pass him by with a different girl in tow. He didn’t stop by Mr. Simmon’s shop. He was deliberately erasing ever having spent time with Minho from his daily life. It was a shitty thing to do, but even Minho didnt seem interested in getting their old life back. And the pain from that realization pushed Newt all the more to lengthen that distance from his childhood friend.

 

Summer rolled by, and for some reason, Newt’s family had planned a weeklong summer outing in the woods with Minho’s family. At the back of his mind, Newt thought it was probably their parents’ idea to “rejuvenate” their sons’ friendship or whatever, so he feigned sickness at the last minute. Minho’s family had gone earlier that day to check on the camp grounds, so he bet the sucker was already there snogging the daughters of the campers. He didn't want to be there for that.

That evening, Newt was alone, but he was already used to the quiet of the neighborhood. In fact, the silence gave him solitude, the peace he needed after pretending for months that nothing was wrong, when in fact, he had never moved on from whatever he felt for Minho. The hurt was still there, but the anger and betrayal parts weren’t. But no matter how he felt, they had probably made that turn where they couldn’t just laugh at matters anymore and leave it in the past. What made this different from their regular fights was the silence that came before and followed after. They were always at each others’ throats. Now they were avoiding the other.

That was what Newt thought when he realized he had made his way out into his own backyard, where Minho had smashed his Spidey into smithereens with his ball. Thinking back, it was probably a really cheap toy if it just broke like that. He just took it to heart because he was a kid, and toys equalled to happiness. Then again, if he hadn’t been that angry, then maybe he never would have bickered that much with Minho. Minho probably wouldn't have had stayed the entire afternoon if Newt forgave him so easily. They probably would have stayed at each others’ periphery, and never create those memories.

He kept on pondering, until he realized that he’d already circled around to the side of the house with the linking tree, and that he’d been staring up at Minho’s window for quite a while now. Even after all that pretense, it was useless – he still cared. He was still hurting. 

Then, suddenly:

"You're wearing my hoodie.”

Newt jerked his head up to the sound of the voice he hadn't heard in quite a while. Minho was there, sitting atop one of the lower branches, watching him.

“Wh-why aren’t you...?”

“Pretended I was sick,” Minho said as he climbed down to close the distance between them. “I thought you might be there. And as I was saying, that belongs to me.”

Newt looked down at the sleeveless green hoodie he was wearing. “You probably left it lying around my room since the last time you hung out.” Which was a pretty long time ago.

“Well I want it back.”

“You’ll have to wrestle me for it---" And before Newt could finish, Minho had already tackled him to the ground. He knew what the blond was going to say before he even blurted it out. They rolled around the grass, entangling their limbs together. They always fought. This was how they had always understood each other.

“Ow!” Newt cried out, but not because of Minho pinning him to the ground using his entire body. “What’s that poking me in the ribs?”

Minho suddenly pushed himself off Newt. “Shuck! It’s broken! And after all the trouble I went through to piece it back together!” He slumped off to the side, helplessly poking a decapitated red-and-blue arm back on a Spidey action figure – the one that broke all those years ago. Cracks along its limbs and torso were still evident, and it was pretty obvious an amateur tried to glue them together.

“What the bloody – you have that?!" Newt couldn’t hide his surprise. After giving up on finding all the pieces, he had thrown away whatever was left that they had retrieved. Minho probably took them secretly, but some of the pieces were missing – 

“Yeah, I searched again the next morning and found them in a dog’s cage in the house behind ours,” Minho said, still sulking. “They were chewed on, but they completed the action figure. It wasn’t only much later when I got to piecing them back together.”

Newt looked at the toy in Minho's hands. There were some abnormalities which looked like bite marks on the stomach area and the right foot, but he was right – all the pieces were in place. In the dark, it looked just like how it was when Newt’s Dad first gave it to him as a his birthday present.

“But… you never told me you fixed it,” Newt said, his hand grabbing hold of Minho’s wrists. “Why? All these years you just kept it.”

Minho was silent. Newt was about to joke if he was a closet Spiderman fanatic, when suddenly, Minho spoke in almost like a whisper: “I kept it because I like you.”

Were these the words that were supposed to make everything alright once you said them out loud? Newt couldn’t decide, but he was certain he was just getting even more confused.

“That doesn’t make any shucking sense, slinthead!”

“Why don’t you get it?” Minho sounded exasperated at having to spell everything clearly to Newt. “After spending that whole afternoon looking for your spider-boyfriend-parts all over your yard, I realized I liked you. Well, not the same kind of ‘like’ I’ve recently felt for you for quite a while now, but enough for me to want to keep seeing you and fighting with you. I guess with my kid logic, I thought that if you got your Spidey back, we won’t have any reason to fight and come together anymore.”

“… Wait, so basically you felt threatened by an action figure?”

“I—let’s not go into details, shall we?”

“But you kept on dating – so many different girls--"

“I was confused, Newt, about myself, much as I hope you were during my temporary absence from your life--"

“When were you confused? You just suddenly stopped being beside me, Min!”

“The first time I masturbated was after you pinned me to the wall! But you never knew that, you klunk-for-brains! For so long we were not-really-friends, but then I suddenly had urges for you! You got me so shucked in the head for quite a while, of course it drove me crazy, always pretending I didn't want to press our bodies together again like that!”

Newt couldn’t think of anything to fight back with. He was still stuck with the revelation that Minho jerked off to thoughts of him. The reality that Minho liked him in that certain way also just sunk in. They had been fooling each other and themselves this whole time.

“If you told me earlier, you would have saved us a lot of coming-of-age drama, jerkface!”

“How was I supposed to know I was in love with you by then, you overbearing goose!”

 _In love_ – once again, Minho was the one who used the term first. _In love_ – it seemed like such a wonderful thing, especially since it wasn’t just Newt, as it turned out. It was both of them.

“So… what now?” Newt asked. Somehow they had quieted down, and they were just sitting in front of the other, foreheads touching, fingers intertwining.

“I’m in this if you are.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m asking you out, turnipbrain. I’m asking you if I could hold your hand in public, kiss you, take you on a date and buy you ice cream, stuff like that.”

“…You just broke my heart, Minho, ain’t it a little too soon?”

“Then let me fix it,” Minho said, a little breathless. “I’m not yet done following you, Newt.”

Newt was silent.

“I hurt you. I’m sorry. Even when you were the one who climbed up my window at the wrong time.”

“Stop apologizing. You shucking suck at it.”

“Like you and your timing.”

“Let’s just stop talking, Minho.”

“…Good idea.”

 

Under the moonlight, under the linking tree, there were two shadows just sitting side by side, arms and hands linked, not really doing anything. They just sat there looking at the stars, creating new constellations and backstories for each. They bickered over the most trivial of details, like the shape of the eyebrows of the great warrior who challenged the minotaur of whatever story they were cooking up. They rolled their eyes at the other’s lame ideas, and called each other names, but they were two happy shadows who didn't care about what time it was because they were spending the whole week to make up for the few months they spent stupidly ignoring each other.


	2. Both 1.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He found that he was in love for the first time. He just never imagined it would be with the person he shared mutual hatred with.

Minho was hard.

 

Him, a high-schooler who had never been with a girl yet had seen enough porn, was hard. Not surprising considering he was young, but what got his head spinning and heart racing was the fact that this physiological reaction was brought about by his neighbor and childhood not-really-friend, Newt.

Newt, challenged by Minho’s growth spurt, had begun this exercise routine in an attempt to grow taller, and every night he would do push-ups inside his room. Minho knew because he had this habit of climbing the tree between their separate houses - they called it the linking tree - and entering Newt’s window just to annoy him, and for the past three weeks he’d find the blond vigorously attempting to kiss the floor. Deep inside he hoped this wouldn’t work, that he’d be taller still, and he would literally have to look down at that screechy manatee whenever they see each other. But then Newt had pushed him onto a wall in his room, and pressed their foreheads together.

“See? We seeing eye to eye just means I’m as tall as you now,” he had said.

There were three things that registered in Minho’s brain at that moment:  
1\. Newt’s eyes were hella brown - not the poopy kind, but the beautiful kind.  
2\. The musky sweaty scent coming from Newt was …intoxicating?  
3\. Something like an elongated rock was forming between his legs.

He pushed the blond off him and went back out the window to the linking tree, over it’s branches, and into the window of his own room, all the while yelling crude names out to Newt and hoping that the raging hard-on in his sweatpants wasn’t being obvious.

So here he was, back in his room, his cheeks hot and his crotch uncomfortably needy. Calm down, he told himself. There’s gotta be a logical explanation he got hard back there. Seeing Newt pumped up and seeing his back muscles and biceps while he was doing push-ups probably made him wish he had a body like that himself - that’s it, he thought, he got hard because he envisioned _himself_ being sexy and having a superhero bod. He decided he’d choose that narcissism was the answer.

So the logical thing to achieve this goal was to go on his own exercise routine. The next day, he spent the morning jogging, _accidentally_ meeting Newt on his own morning jog, and proceeded to argue about who was following who.


	3. alone together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after that night, and beyond.
> 
> Minho's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really got invested in this story. I suck at writing chaptered fics, but this plot really stuck with me. If you enjoyed the first chapter, I hope you will enjoy this as much as I did writing it. Thank you.

Did Newt say it?

I can’t quite remember.

All I remember was the drunken haze of infatuation and his hand in mine. And the stars, the quiet of the night, even as we bickered over our own back stories of our made-up constellations. And the slivers of moonlight on his skin that accentuated his wonderful facial bone structure and the way he scrunched his nose whenever I said something stupid, which becomes more frequent than usual when I’m with him.

But did he _say it_?

I really don’t remember. But I remember me saying it.

I told him I like him.

Then I asked him out. I don’t think he said ‘yes’. I don’t remember him saying ‘no’, either.

 

_Before._

 

Things went back to normal after that confrontation. By normal, I mean, we went back to being always together and fighting and bickering, but it’s not quite all that anymore – like on the way home from hanging out, when our friends would break off from the group to go their own ways, and it’s just me and Newt, I’d hold his hand, and he’d let me. When our eyes would meet in public, I’d wink just to tease him, and he’d roll his eyes, but his cheeks would go red. It’s so adorable that I feel myself blush back.

But that’s it, no more than hand holding or long drawn out mutual staring. The closest we’d been skin to skin was under the tree that evening – watching the stars, just sitting side by side, our arms entangled and our fingers intertwined, and sometimes with Newt’s head on my shoulder (I argue I’m still taller). When we finally stood up, he led me to their living room, which is so familiar to me, and before long, we had fallen asleep on the cool cotton rug on the floor. Our hands still touched even when we woke up.

Our families were gone for the whole week, enjoying the camping trip they had planned which I backed out of at the last minute in fear of actually having to encounter him after what must have been our worst fight to date, not knowing he also thought the same. So there we were, with seven days ahead of us, alone together. After deliberately avoiding each other, we ended up going back together anyway. I couldn’t be happier. I didn’t even care at the moment if he didn’t say he liked me back.

(Well he _did_ say I broke his heart, didn’t he? That was probably the closest thing I got from him as a confession.)

That morning, I woke up first. Okay, maybe I didn’t really sleep very well with him actually lying there beside me. The scent of his hair mixed with grass and summer air messed up with my head all night.

Was _last night_ even real? I yelled a lot. Well, we were both kind of screaming. Were the past months of ignoring each other even real? But him beside me the morning after was real. I wondered if whatever happened the night before would carry on to the present. What did it mean for us now?

When I felt him stir, I propped myself up on one elbow and watched him wake up. My face probably flushed because the first thing he told me was, “What are you doing, you pervert?”

I didn’t answer immediately. I watched him rub at his eyes. I licked my lips and swallowed.

“You’re still wearing my hoodie,” I finally said, my voice low. I wondered if I sounded dangerous. I felt kind of dangerous.

Newt just looked up at me, but his eyes were full of understanding. He knew where I was going to go with this. Without breaking eye contact, my hand wandered to his stomach. He was breathing evenly, and he had propped himself up over his elbow, too. I started rubbing circles with my thumb, feeling his chiselled torso underneath the fabric. He didn’t stop me. I swallowed again.

 _He’s allowing me to_ , I thought. _How far would he let me get away with?_ I wondered.

My hand goes under the fabric, and onto warm, soft skin. His abdominal muscles tensed at my fingertips. That reaction was all I needed.

I pulled my hand back and instead plant it on his cheek, and at the same time I swung over him and hovered above his body, and I seriously wanted to kiss him. I’ve never kissed him, not even last night, when I probably should’ve had. This time, I almost did.

There was a knock on the door, and I stopped. We both stopped, and I just noticed that we were breathing heavily, like something risky excited us both yet whatever it was got snuffed out even before got to whatever it was, and so we’re left with a confusing mix of disappointment and relief and possibly a boner. (Or maybe that was just me.)

It was Thomas at the door. He wasn’t alone; Gally, Ben, Alby, Siggy, and Winston were there, like a big cockblocking party. They brought food, so I forgave them easily (it was already 10AM). They said our parents asked them to check up on us because Newt and I haven’t talked to each other in weeks, and because they figured we were too lazy to cook our own food. They had knocked on my door first, but I wasn’t there. They were a little bit surprised seeing me behind Newt when he opened the door to his house. Newt and I were surprised they had made a bet about how long our fight would be. Alby won.

And so the week we had ahead, which in my infatuated-school-boy brain thought we’d spend alone together, was spent hanging out with friends. I’m not complaining, it’s always fun with the guys – but Newt and I had never picked up from where we’d left off. I never got to ask him how he actually felt about me, about all of this – about what we now have. I could have asked him when we walk back to our homes alone, when I would hold his hand, but then I remember what he said:

_“…You just broke my heart, Minho, ain’t it a little too soon?”_

But he lets me hold his hand. He didn’t stop me when I was about to kiss him for the first time. And he still has my hoodie.

My mind is still screaming, _Let me fix it. Please let me fix it. I like you. I_ love _you. Let me fix it._

But he’s right, and I can’t rush him. I don’t want to rush him and ruin what we’re building or rebuilding in our relationship. So I don’t say it out loud.

 

I slept in his house during that week. I told him it was a waste of electricity, and it was pretty convenient because his house was next door. He called me a nipple-twisting leech. I called him a screechy manatee. We slept on the same cotton rug in the living room. We only went to his room when we wanted to read his comics. We held hands almost every time. Nothing happened beyond that. I had no right to ask beyond that.

The situation could be reversed – he could stay and leech off in my house until our families came back, but I knew that was impossible, at least, for the moment. I mean, he _did_ catch me getting sucked off by one of my exes in my own room (she was a blond, and I had certain urges for a certain blond friend and I’m just a teen with an excess production of testosterone). And I had let him watch, quietly.

I didn’t even think about it before that. What did I even want to accomplish, or happen? Maybe I had wanted to hurt him, because he shucked my head up. I wasn’t even certain how him seeing me like that would hurt him – I wasn’t sure of his feelings, heck now I’m still not sure – but I wanted to maybe scar him, for not even trying to run after me after I had gotten girlfriends. In my own selfish way I wanted him to figure it out for us, that I was in love with him, and that he should be in love with me, that he should hurt so he could find out he was in love with me. I wished, still wish, that he’s in love with me. But all that did was widen the gap that had already formed. But I guess I did hurt him in the way I wished to hurt him.

I want him, but I want him to hurt. It’s so stupid and tragic and messed up real bad.

 

_Now._

 

When the day our families return rolls by, we wait out and sit on his foyer eating ice cream, where there’s ample shade from the sun. There’s enough space between us where we clasp our hands together, and enough distance that it only looks friendly, and it actually is. We’re silent, but not quite. We’re not yelling at each other, but we’re bickering over the most trivial things – about what color Thomas’ shirt was when we all went bowling, which eyebrow Gally accidentally shaved when we got drunk, which restaurant banned Siggy from for correcting the chef, and so on. Our ‘alone together time’ wears thin with every passing second, and this is how we spend it.

I want to kiss him. I want to taste his mouth, taste the ice cream melting on his tongue. He licks his bottom lip. Sweat rolls from his neck to his exposed collar. I look away, but squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

Then we hear engine noises – and both our families drive down the gravel road, my mom poking her head and one arm out the window of our car. She’s happy to see Newt and me being friends-but-not-really-but-talking-to-each-other again. We’re not holding hands anymore.

 

The rest of the summer rolls by. We hang out, sometimes in his room to read comics, or to ride our bikes to the seaside, or with friends around town. He hasn’t come up on my room yet, not even through the linking tree with its big-ass branches extended far to reach both of our windows. We’re both one climb away from each other, but so far, I’m still the only one going back and forth. Maybe he’s still hurting.

We haven’t talked about us yet.

 

Summer has passed, and autumn is approaching. We’re seniors now. We’ve got our fighting rhythm back, bickering like we always did, like we always do.

“Could you stop being a limp chimpanzee foreskin for once?” He says, annoyed.

“Only if you stop being an atomic Neolithic bullfart,” I say.

“Crunchy yellow pit stain.”

“Loose orangutan testicle.”

Our name-calling is shit and our quarrels are petty. But it’s how we’ve always communicated. And it’s when we fight each other when we’re most alive.

 

It doesn’t bother me at first; Newt and Teresa had always been friends. Teresa and I had always been friends. Teresa is one of the boys, she always was, and she was too much of a bro to be a candidate for dating – if we dated it would be like incest. And she’s not the one I’m in love with. Well, none of my exes were, but the point is, she’s also Newt’s bro. So it’s pretty normal that they’d sneak to a corner of the room together and talk silently during breaks. It’s full-bro when they walk together during breaks instead of sitting down with our group in the cafeteria.

It only bothers me when I realize that it’s like they have their own something, whatever it was, that Newt can’t even share with me or anyone else. It starts to get into my head when Newt avoids my eyes after he’s back from talking with her. Teresa acts normal, and it’s expected because between them, she’s not exactly the one I almost kissed back in summer. She’s not the one who looks kind of guilty.

Once, at the corner of my eye I see him slipping her something paper-y. Was that money? A secret note? I want to know. The next day, she casually drops something rectangular on Newt’s desk. Newt quickly packs it inside his bag, and as he zips it close, I tap his shoulder. He flinches. As if I don’t poke him enough to annoy him, he’s startled by my touch and glares at me. I don’t even have anything in particular to say to him, I just wanted to maybe check on him, but now I do have something I want to say.

It’s been bubbling up in my chest, but I can’t burst now. Not when we’ve waited a long time to cool down and get back into the normal rhythm of things. I only glare back before I spin on my heels and ignore him for the rest of the day.

 

“Newt,” I say, and he stiffens. On the way home, the others have already separated from us, and now it’s only him and me, our houses a few blocks away. He walked in front, and I walked farthest back beside hulking Gally. Now, there’s no one else to hide from. I grab his hand and pull him. We run.

 

We stop when we step on sand. We’re by the sea now, a place we usually go to by bike, the sun setting to our right. We bend down and place our hands on our knees, breathing wildly. Our bags fall from our arms and onto the sand. There was no other place I was sure we could be alone – at least as much alone as we can be by being far from people. There’s a family of three walking near the shoreline. A couple is sitting on some rocks watching the waves. All present yet far enough to be out of earshot, and far enough to ignore us like the specks we are in their periphery.

“Are you bloody mental?” Newt says after he’s got his breath back, irritation present in his voice. “Ran out of good hobbies, didn’t you? You don’t just drag people on a shucking impromptu death run without stopping, you constipated avocado – ”

“I like you,” I say, still a little breathless. He stops, looking at me incredulously.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” He says, a bit weakly considering he just yelled at me. His face has gone redder than the horizon. I inch closer. I thank the heavens he doesn’t back away. I wouldn’t know what to do if he had backed away.

“I like you,” I repeat, and take another step closer.

“I know,” he says quietly, but his face hasn’t turned a shade lighter.

“Don’t you shucking go all Han Solo on me.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, _anything_ , maybe?” I say, a little exasperated. Newt doesn’t say anything, so I continue. My voice rises, and I can’t help it. “When were we ever going to have this conversation? I knew I hurt you – even if _you_ climbed towards my room on your own choice like some shucking idiot turkey – but I don’t get what you’re thinking anymore. You let me hold your hand. You even let me lean my head on you sometimes. And you pretend to ignore me when I nuzzle my nose in your hair even when we’re alone. But you’re hiding something from me, and it’s driving me batshit crazy.”

“Who said you should be all up in my shucking business?” Newt says, arching an eyebrow. “I can do all those things with you, and still keep secrets.”

“Then why does it feel like…,” I pause, unsure of my words. I speak, but my voice feels muted. “… like you’re just patronizing me? Just because I said I like you.”

Okay, saying that out loud just hurts. Even Newt looks like I hit him with something hard and cactus-y.

“I’d never do that,” he says, with so much conviction, and it’s his turn to take one step closer towards me. He sounds offended when he says, “Did you think I did that out of pity, or to make you feel good about yourself, or about us?”

“How should I know, when I’m having a hard time understanding you recently, slinthead,” I say, but not with any venom, just quietly. When I asked him out I was relieved he didn’t flat out reject me, but now that I do think about it, did I just let my ego get the better of me? That because I confessed, I automatically had the right to lock fingers with him? Wasn’t it all in my head, and he just conceded because he was so done with fighting? My own brain is driving me nuts, but what if I’m right?

“Hey,” Newt says, and he holds me by my shoulders. Did I look like I was caving in on myself?

“Hey,” he says again, shaking me, and I snap back into focus. “Don’t you think like that again, Minho. Don’t you ever.”

I stare back at him. He’s got that intense look in his eyes and then I know. I just know.

“Does that mean you like me back?”

“… Painfully so,” he says, in almost like a whisper. “And I thought that was so bloody obvious, but apparently you’ve got the common sense of a watercress sandwich.”

“Then what were you hiding from me? With Teresa,” I say. This time, Newt goes red again, and he drops his hand from my shoulders. He opens his mouth to say something, but he only stutters, so I dive for his bag on the sand.

“Min--!” he exclaims but I already pull out his secret package, and he pounds on me from behind, and we wrestle on the sand. The sand gets everywhere and it is so irritating. He wins.

“Now I really have to know!” I say, grabbing for the rectangular package, but Newt’s foot is on my face and he’s so bent on not letting me find out.

“It’s not—I mean – just stop, Minho—” Newt stammers, but I manage to pin him down with my body, straddling him, and successfully grab the blasted thing. He stops writhing under me, paralyzed, as if a huge scandal about him is about to be revealed – and as I tear open the package – normal white bond paper, seriously? – it really feels like I just unearthed a shucking scandal.

For a moment, we’re still.

“It’s a porno,” I say after a while. “A gay porno. A gay porno comic.”

Newt doesn’t say anything under me. He’s covering his face with both arms.

I take a closer look at the cover. It’s two dudes – like, really shredded – in nothing but tight-fitting swimming shorts, sitting side by side at the edge of a bed, making suggestive eyes at each other – and they _kind_ of really probably look like me and Newt. But like adults. And super tanned and their skin is also kind of glossy and what the fuck.

“Newt,” I say, and before I could formulate a question, he growls.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he says, face still shielded with his arms. “Teresa said she had a recommendation. We were being shucking careful, but, oh bloody –”

I drop the porno to the sand and force Newt’s arms away. I want to see his face. My cheeks are so hot, even the evening chill descending upon us can’t do anything to cool down the fire that’s been started in me. I pin his arms on either side of him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s so embarrassed, it’s adorable. _I’m_ fucking embarrassed.

“I’m not even going to ask how she has a ‘recommendation’, or why she watches this, but,” I pause, breathless and overwhelmed with all the thoughts and realizations bombarding my brain. But once again they are only thoughts in my own head. I want to hear it directly from him this time. “Why do you have it, Newt?”

“…” His voice is so quiet I have to lean down further.

“… always mess up, you and I,” he says. He’s red all the way up to his ears and his words come out from gritted teeth. “Whatever we do, we always clash and destroy something, and most recently, we were a few steps away from ruining _us_. I wanted to be prepared. Teresa said something about fan fictions and BL and got me into websites like AO3 and Tumblr – don’t even look them up you hairy overgrown potato! – basically now my internet history is like bloody shameful. But I wanted to be prepared. So I don’t mess us up.”

I don’t even understand half of what he’s saying. Then he looks up at me, a little defiant and menacing and yet managing to be so cute. I’m distracted, and he twists himself, and with immense strength, pushes me down underneath him. His eyes looks fierce, as if saying, _You have got to stop this habit of pinning me down_. Now his arms are at either side of me. With the same defiance, he says, “You have experience about this dating thing, I don’t. It’s not fair.”

I manage to laugh. I’m not making fun of him – I’m feeling like I just saw a flying unicorn farting rainbows and shitting stars in the night sky. I can’t remember feeling so happy. “And you think you could learn much about dating from a porno, than from your boyfriend?”

I feel my cheeks go even hotter. I feel like kind of radioactive and feverish. I can’t believe I said that out loud. _Boyfriend_. The word feels surreal and foreign and yet not unpleasant on my tongue. I’m feeling so bold and sure and so shucking happy.

Newt doesn’t refute or answer me with something sarcastic but he looks like he wants to punch me, or gut me, or kick my balls, or all of that in order. Instead he says this:

“You drive me so madly in love with you.”

One line, and he takes my breath away.

I want to cherish him, and yet he’s provoking me to rush in and do all sorts of wild and dangerous things with him. He doesn’t look like he’s consciously doing it, but I can’t shut off whatever he’s ignited in me.

He could destroy me and I would let him.

I hold his face in my hands lean upwards – his immediate response is to close the distance between our lips – and we kiss.

It starts out chaste. Just a little pulling on his bottom lip – until my hands find his neck and hair and I pry his mouth open with my tongue. He lets out a small gasp, and I realize he’s never been with anyone before, never locked lips with anyone before. Before me. The thought makes me crazy. I pull him even closer. His taste intoxicates me.

I’m finally kissing Newt. He’s finally kissing me.

I feel electrified.

 

We walk back holding hands. We walk past our homes to buy ice cream from Mr. Simmons’ shop. When he sees us, he smiles, and when he sees our hands, his smile goes even wider. Newt mutters something about ‘shipping’. I show him my dumb face (just kidding, I always look nothing short of handsome and cool), and he says he’ll probably explain it to me later.

We walk back to our homes, still holding hands. Mom waves us hi from our window, and Dad just pokes his head out, smiling that Dad smile. I kiss Newt again before he enters his house, like I’m kissing him goodbye for the night.

As if I’m not going to climb up his window to see him in a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading til the end!
> 
> P.S. If you want, you can hit me up on tumblr (@xxxtrashbag/@eruriholic) ... I'll be sure to reply if I'm not being too shy. *immediately hides*


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